


The Frightful Father

by VillainousFunctioningDude (HolmesArtemis8)



Series: The Perilous Parturiency [3]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, F/M, Fires, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, Past Child Abuse, Rape Aftermath, Stalking, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, vfd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 11:29:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21899044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesArtemis8/pseuds/VillainousFunctioningDude
Summary: After the events of "The Perilous Parturiency," Violet must attempt to rebuild her life with not only her siblings but now her daughter. A decade later, Violet discovers that the villain she once thought to be dead may still be after her and Bea.
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf, Violet Baudelaire/Quigley Quagmire
Series: The Perilous Parturiency [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1370353
Comments: 17
Kudos: 68





	1. Postpartum

**Author's Note:**

> This is a continuation of "The Perilous Parturiency." Violet's story may yet have a happy ending, but do not hold out hope. This is a terrible tale.
> 
> (Hey, you know what's a good idea? Writing a sequel that literally no one asked for! And before I've completed a different WIP! I know, it's awful, I'm inconsistent. But I just couldn't leave well enough alone. I've had this in my head since I finished "The Perilous Parturiency.")

“Is there anything else you’d like to add to the record, Miss Baudelaire?” The man folded his hands and cocked his head as he observed Violet.

Violet swallowed and looked at the table before her. Her pale, gaunt form shivered, despite the warm blaze in the fireplace. Her dazed expression found its way to the volunteer’s face.

“No, sir. Olaf—“ The villain’s name got caught in her throat. Violet blinked away tears.

“It’s all right, Miss Baudelaire. He can’t hurt you anymore,” the volunteer comforted.

Violet sniffed. “Olaf’s name is still on our fortune,” she mentioned.

The man consulted his notes. “The Duchess of Winnipeg will be handling your financial affairs.” He smiled at the girl. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll get it fixed.”

Violet attempted a small smile. The man turned off the recording device and gathered up his papers.

“Do you happen to know the time?” Violet asked quietly.

The volunteer glanced at his watch. It’s half-past five,” he replied.

Violet stood slowly. “It’s time for me to feed Bea,” she said.

“That’s quite all right, Miss Baudelaire. If we have any more questions about what happened, we will let you know.” The man stood as well.

Violet began to leave the parlor, but she stopped as a burning question seared itself into her mind. “If..._he_ is dead, why do you need to know what happened?”

“We’re still searching for his henchpeople. It was to find out how involved they were,” the man replied.

Violet nodded and left the parlor. She found Larry waiting outside of the room with a wheelchair. “You ready, Violet?” he asked.

She nodded as she sat in the wheelchair, he broken body aching from the trauma it bore nearly twenty-four hours prior.

Larry quietly pushed her through the house, which formerly belonged to the famed herpetologist Dr. Montgomery Montgomery. The Baudelaires were actually meant to be under his care after their parents died, as Jacquelyn had discovered during the ninth months Violet was imprisoned. Unfortunately, he had perished in the theatre blaze that Olaf had set after marrying Violet.

A lump rose in Violet’s throat. She was finally safe, but she felt as though she could not relax. Olaf had inadvertently trained her to prepare for cruelty all the time.

Violet began to silently cry, something that she had perfected under Olaf’s tyranny. She wondered how she would ever stop feeling as though he would jump out from around a corner and steal her. Violet looked down at her still-swollen but empty belly where Bea had grown; Olaf had damaged her mentally and physically.

Larry stopped the wheelchair in front of the room Violet shared with her daughter. “We’re here, Violet,” he said quietly. Violet blinked and stood without a sound. “If you need anything, let me or Jacquelyn know. We won’t be far,” Larry said. He reached out to give an assuring pay on Violet’s arm, but she flinched back.

“Please,” she whimpered.

Larry’s eyes widened, but he lowered his arm and offered a smile instead. He pushed the wheelchair away and left.

Violet entered her room and locked the door behind her.

“Hey,” Klaus murmured behind her. She turned around to see her brother holding Bea in a rocking chair.

Violet heard Bea fuss in Klaus’ arms and smiled. “How was she?”

Klaus grinned and looked down at his niece. “Perfect. She’s the best, Violet,” he said quietly. He allowed Bea to curl her small fist around his pinkie.

Violet chuckled and made her way over to the two of them. “She getting fussy?”

As if on cue, Bea cooed and began to open her eyes from her nap.

“Just a little,” Klaus said partially to Bea in a baby voice. He stood and handed her over to Violet. “Go see your mama,” he told the baby.

“Yeah, you’re hungry, aren’t you?” Violet asked as she settled her daughter in her arms.

Klaus brought a chair from the desk in the corner over to the rocking chair he turned it away and sat down, facing away from Violet.

Violet sat in the rocking chair and began to unbutton her dress. “You don’t have to stay for this, you know,” Violet said to her brother.

Klaus shrugged. “I just want to make sure both of you are all right.”

Violet held Bea under her breast and encouraged the baby to latch on to her nipple.

“Sunny’s asleep isn’t she?” Violet smirked.

“Yeah, she’s not much for conversation when she’s tired,” Klaus replied.

There was a long silence between the siblings as Bea nursed from her mother.

“Klaus?” Violet suddenly asked.

He turned his head slightly. “Yeah?”

“Are _you_ OK?”

Klaus turned around. “What do you—“ he realized that Violet was still nursing and looked away. “—Sorry—what do you mean?”

“Well, with all this mess concerning me, you went through some bad stuff, too,” Violet explained.

“Violet,” Klaus’ voice broke as he tried to rein in his emotions. “What Sunny and I went through is nothing compared to you. She and I...we can barely remember what happened to us.” He shook his head. “You went through _hell_, Violet. I mean...” Klaus stopped. “God, you’re fifteen and you had a baby yesterday!” He let his head fall into his hands.

“Klaus...” Violet said.

He pushed up his glasses and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “I’m the worst brother. I couldn’t protect you or Sunny.”

Bea unlatched herself from Violet and began to fuss a bit. “Why don’t you go get something to eat and then get some rest, Klaus? I’ll be here a while,” Violet said.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Klaus admitted, his voice cracking once more.

“We’ll be fine, Klaus. We’re safe,” Violet replied.

Klaus stood and went to the door that joined his and Sunny’s room with Violet’s. Before he opened the door, he turned towards Violet. “I miss mother and father,” he said quietly.

Violet wiped a stray tear from her eye and nodded. “Me too.”

Klaus retreated to his room, leaving Violet and Bea alone. Violet looked down at her daughter, who’s shiny blue eyes gazed back. As more tears streamed down Violet’s face, she pressed a kiss onto Bea’s forehead.

  
Larry abandoned the wheelchair in the foyer and made his way to the parlor from which he met Violet. He knocked on the parlor door, and entered after hearing a faint, “Come in.” Jacquelyn stood talking to the volunteer, her expression darkly unreadable.

“There you are,” the man said.

“The verdict?” Larry questioned after he shut the door behind himself.

The volunteer sighed and looked at the classified folder in his hand. “You know we put out fires. We don’t start them,” he prefaced.

“But?” Larry interjected.

“He raped her. Repeatedly,” Jacquelyn said.

The man shook his head. “He threatened to kill her and the baby, along with the other Baudelaire children. He’s murdered at least seven hundred people with his fires. Maybe more.”

“Thank goodness you weren’t at the theatre that day, Gustav,” Jacquelyn interrupted.

“It was either me or Dr. Montgomery that had to go to present in India.” Gustav’s face fell in remembrance of his late employer. “Still, former volunteer or not, Olaf needs to be dealt with,” he answered.

Jacquelyn sighed. “We need you to handle him, Larry. No one will suspect you. I need to stay with the Baudelaires.”

“I need to search for remaining volunteers in the area. Just deal with him, and then relocate the Baudelaires after a few weeks,” Gustav instructed. “Good luck.”

Gustav nodded shortly and left the parlor, leaving Larry and Jacquelyn. As soon as the door shut, Jacquelyn approached Larry. “You make him suffer. I don’t care how, just make him feel a fraction of what Violet felt.”

Larry swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

  
Olaf had watched the sunlight stretch across his room and back into darkness as he laid on his side next to the radiator. His wrist was raw from his attempts to yank free his arm from the handcuffs that restrained him. He knew that his wrist would be purpled from bruising, but he did not care. What hurt worse was where Violet had harpooned him in his upper leg. Olaf had managed to stop the traumatic bleeding by applying pressure, but he was not sure how long he could go on, as blood still trickled from the wound whenever he moved. So, he stayed still.

Olaf’s singular brow furrowed in anger and frustration. He stared at the bed on which his daughter was born and then taken from him. He figured he would die in that room and he would never again see the baby. Much to his surprise, his heart dropped at that thought. Fury boiled up in him towards the Baudelaires, especially Violet. She had taken away his baby, just like Kit had.

Hot tears burned Olaf’s eyes. In a fit of rage, he sat up on his knees and pounded his free fist against the floor. Something primal in him snapped and he roared, “_Beatrice!_” and began to yank his cuffed wrist again and again. With a horrible bellow, he twisted his arm and heard a snap, sharp pain radiating from his hand. He’d broken his wrist, yet he still was not free. He banged his fist against the radiator.

“Are you quite finished with your little tantrum, Olaf?” the voice of a woman came from the door.

Olaf flinched and looked up. His eyes widened as he stood. “What are you two doing here?” He observed the woman with hair but no beard and the man with a beard but no hair standing in between Olaf and the door.

The man with a beard but no hair scoffed. “I always thought I’d have to repossess the house, Olaf. You were that much of a disappointment to us.

“I set all the fires you told me to. More, in fact,” Olaf rasped, his voice exhausted from screaming.

“You did. But still, you disappointed us, as we knew you would.” The woman looked around the disgusting room, her gaze landing on the still mussed bed on which Violet gave birth.

“How?” Olaf asked.

“Who is Beatrice?” the man redirected.

Olaf’s face fell into a scowl. “Why did you come here?”

The woman looked back up at Olaf. “The Volunteer Fire Department has decided to come and kill you. Mainly because you burned down a theatre full of volunteers and a V.F.D. location. We must give credit where credit is due, however. Those two acts of arson made us stop and think for a moment that you might be competent.”

Olaf rolled his eyes.

“That’s the least of your crimes they perceive you have committed,” the man stated. “Many happy returns on the birth of your daughter,” he said sarcastically. He gestured to the bed in the corner.

“Did you come here just to tell me how much of a failure I am? Or are you going to help me escape?” Olaf lifted up his restricted arm, wincing at the pain of his break.

“We still haven’t decided. Your executioner should be here at any moment, and then we’ll decide whether or not to help you,” the man said.

Olaf made a face. “That’s a little late, don’t you think?”

The front door to the house opened and closed. The man and the woman looked at each other and calmly walked out of the room and down the hall to presumably hide. Olaf watched the door as he waited for whomever was in the house to appear.

The person pounded up the staircase and finally made himself known to Olaf. Larry stood in the open doorframe of Olaf’s room.

Olaf sneered. “You again?”

“You know, I thought long and hard what I was going to say to you when I got back here,” Larry said.

Olaf rolled his eyes. “Ugh. Here we go,” he muttered under his breath.

Larry huffed and stalked over to the fireplace and picked up a poker. “Then I realized that it wasn’t my place to say anything. It’s Violet’s. And she’s not here.” Larry came face to face with Olaf. “So I guess my sentiments towards you will have to suffice.”

Olaf glanced at the fire poker. “What are you going to do? Stoke firewood at me to death—“

Larry swung the poker like a bat across Olaf’s face, causing the villain to fall to the ground. He brought the poker down onto Olaf’s body again and again. “You sick bastard!” Larry shouted through Olaf’s cries of pain. Larry’s beatings did not let up for quite some time, causing Olaf’s skin to break beneath blows.

Larry finally threw down the poker and grabbed Olaf’s shirt collar. “I’m going to burn this house down with you in it, you disgusting pedophile, just so you can feel what Bertrand and Beatrice felt in their last minutes,” Larry hissed in Olaf’s face.

Olaf turned his bloodied head and spat in Larry’s eye. Larry shoved Olaf to the floor and stalked downstairs.

Olaf sat up gingerly and wiped his mouth of spit. The man with a beard but no hair and the woman with hair but no beard came back into the room and approached Olaf quickly.

“It’s such a shame that you let my house go to ruin. And now you’re the reason it’s being destroyed,” the man spat. The woman quietly picked up the poker as he spoke. “That, for me, is the final straw. You deserve to die cuffed to a radiator.”

The woman harrumphed. “Speak for yourself.” Before the man could question his counterpart, she drew back the poker and hit him on the back of his head. The man collapsed heavily to the ground.

Olaf watched the scene unfold in shock and was even unaware that the woman was picking the lock on his handcuffs. He looked at the woman.

“I’m not doing this for you. I hate you,” she said to Olaf. He stood and backed away once she opened the cuff. “It’s just he wouldn’t shut up about this damn house.” She grabbed the man’s limp wrist and cuffed him to the radiator.

The woman stood up and faced Olaf. “Now, if you ever want to see Beatrice again, you will do exactly what I say, and maybe, just maybe, you won’t fail this time,” she said.

“Why would you help me?” Olaf asked. He heard the faint, familiar sounds of glass breaking and fire crackling downstairs.

“Oh, Olaf, I’m not stupid. The one thing we could never beat out of you completely was sentiment for certain people,” she replied.

At that, the woman with hair but no beard and Olaf escaped from the window as the blaze slowly crept through the house.


	2. Stranger

Bea chewed her lip as she wrote furiously in her notebook. A new play idea had come into her mind during her last class and she just had to get it down before it slipped away. It was not one of her best ideas, she admitted, but it was fun and she had enjoyed the premise when she thought it up.

Students ran and horsed around in the school hallway like they had been allowed to do such all day. It had turned 3:00 barely five minutes ago. Bea struggled to focus through the loud noises.

“I see you’re putting your new notebook to good use,” Sunny smirked as she approached Bea.

Without looking up at her thirteen-year-old aunt, Bea smiled. “Yeah,” she replied as she sloppily finished up her last sentence.

“What’s it about?”

Bea slapped the notebook shut and stood to face the blonde girl. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Sunny chuckled and rolled her eyes. “It’s another play, isn’t it?”

“No,” Bea lied. Sunny’s eyebrows pitched up. “Yes.”

Sunny sucked on her teeth. “Violet’s not going to like that,” she said.

“Which is precisely why I didn’t want to tell you what it was!” Bea stuffed her notebook into her bag. Sunny gestured for Bea to walk with her to the school’s side door. “I just don’t get why Mom’s so uptight about not being involved in theatre. I think I’d be a great actor and playwright,” Bea sighed.

Sunny shook her head. “She’s got her reasons, Bea. Besides, you don’t have to write for the stage. You could write books.”

Bea groaned and threw back her head. “I hate writing prose like that! You just have to explain so much. And it’s meant to be imagined, not performed.” Bea smirked. “Wouldn’t it be weird if the reason Mom hated theatre was because she was jilted by an actor lover of hers?” Bea clasped her hands and brought them to the side of her head melodramatically. “And because he broke her heart, she never wants to even look at a theatre again?” Bea suggested, giggling. She looked at Sunny, expecting her to laugh. Instead, her aunt was stony-faced and staring straight ahead.

Bea’s eyes widened and she stopped mid-stride. “Wait, is that actually what happened?” Sunny stopped walking and glared back at Bea. “Really?”

“No, Bea,” Sunny replied monotonously.

Bea grinned and laughed incredulously. “I mean, I always thought it might have been that, but I never said anything—“

Sunny shook her head. “It’s not that, Beatrice,” she stated.

Bea’s smile faded. Whenever her mom, Uncle Klaus, or Sunny used her full name, she knew they were dead serious. “OK,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry, Sunny.”

Sunny nodded and looked at her watch. “My cooking class starts in a bit.” She began to head for the end of the hallway.

“Hey, don’t forget, Mom and Quigley get back from their honeymoon today. Dinner tonight,” Bea reminded.

“Yup,” Sunny replied. She waved to her niece as she went out the door at the end of the hallway.

Bea hooked her thumbs on her backpack straps and sighed. She strolled back down the hallway and to the front entrance to the school to begin her walk home. When she exited the building, she turned down the sidewalk and waited at the first crosswalk.

Bea always loved the walk home from school. It gave her plenty of time to think about her plays and how she would stage them. For this, she was eternally grateful for her mom deciding against sending her to Prufrock Prep, a boarding school that her mom had described as ‘utterly horrific’ and ‘unsuitable for anyone, child or adult.’ Only a year after Bea had started going to school in the city, Prufrock Prep was closed permanantly after the Board of Education found that the school was in violation of several health codes. Bea’s mom had had a screaming fit with Uncle Klaus about how they were closed because of health codes, but not for abusing their students.

Bea passed by several restaurants and stores and actually looked at them for once. Usually, she was so occupied with her ideas that she never really noticed the bustling city life around her. There was only one exception to this: Carafe Cafe. She stopped by there every so often to pick up a snack on her way home since it was the halfway point between school and home. Every day, there was a man sitting at the same table reading The Daily Punctilio. Bea thought he was rather odd-looking, but he appeared to be nice, as he nodded to her every time she passed the cafe. He had a notable unibrow that stretched over his eyes like some sort of gray caterpillar. His clothes we not neat, but he did not exactly look homeless, either. His shiny eyes were sharp and piercing, and he was very lanky and bony. And sometimes, but not always (depending on which leg was crossed) she could see a very faded circular tattoo on his inner ankle. She was always too far away to tell what it was, but it was there.

Bea was approaching Carafe Cafe and, like clockwork, the man was seated at his table with his newspaper, facing Bea’s direction. Since she was not so distracted today, she figured that she would get a better look at him as she passed.

She got closer, her eyesight focused on the reading man. However, Bea did not see a different man turn out to stand, and Bea promptly tripped and fell hard onto the sidewalk. Her knee hit the concrete, and she grunted as her hands flew out in front of her to break her fall. Along with a ringing in her ears, she heard the collective sympathetic groan of the outside patrons.

“Oh, my goodness, are you all right, sweetheart?” a woman asked as she knelt down to the fallen girl.

“I am so sorry,” the guilty man exclaimed.

“Here,” a different voice said. Bea felt a strong yet bony hand grasp her upper arm and pull her into a sitting position. “That knee looks bad.”

Bea looked up and saw that the reading man was kneeling next to her with his hand around her arm. She blinked at his piercing gaze and then looked down at her knee underneath her uniform skirt. It was skinned—badly.

“A towel and some ice, perhaps?” the man looked up at a waiter who was observing the situation along with the other patrons. The waiter nodded and left. The reading man grinned at the patrons. “She’s quite all right, it seems. Aren’t you?”

Bea nodded. “Thank you, Mr.—"

The man paused for a moment. “Funcoot. Al Funcoot,” he said with a slippery grin. The hairs on the back of Bea’s neck stood up and she felt sick to her stomach.

Suddenly, Bea did not feel as interested in the man anymore.

“Well,” Bea stated. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Funcoot, and I’m very sorry, but I have to get going.” She stood and winced when she straightened her knee out.

“You’re going? You need to rest your knee for a moment,” Al Funcoot said as he stood to his full height. He towered over Bea, and she suddenly felt so very vulnerable.

The waiter came out of the cafe with a napkin and ice. Bea took the napkin and thanked the waiter. “No, I have to go,” she said again. “I’m sorry.”

Bea limped away from the cafe without looking back. She felt blood trickled down her shin, but she did not want to stop in case Al Funcoot caught up with her.

She did not understand why she so suddenly felt uncomfortable around him, but it was an awful feeling that she did not wish to repeat.

  
Violet unpacked her suitcase and began to sort her dirty clothes on the bed. Quigley did the same on the other side of the bed, but every now and again got distracted by his wife. He smiled at her concentration and the way she scrunched her nose when she tried to decide whether something was a delicate or heavy fabric.

“So,” he said. Violet looked up. “You have fun?”

Violet chuckled. “Do business meetings and the sale of a patent count?”

Quigley glanced up in jest and then grinned. “Yes.”

“Then, yes. I had fun,” Violet replied. She went back to sorting.

Quigley’s smile fell slowly. “Hey, are you all right? About…our…wedding night? I mean, are you OK?”

Violet looked up again and placed the clothes she held on the bed. “I’m so sorry about that, Quigley.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be. All right?” Quigley came around the bed to face Violet up close.

Violet brushed her bangs and bit her thumbnail. “It was the first time since"

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Quigley comforted.

Violet’s eyes began to water and she looked away. “God, I just feel so stupid,” she said. “I mean, it was so long ago, Q.”

Quigley sighed and opened his arms. “Is it all right…?” Violet nodded swiftly. Quigley slowly enveloped his wife in an embrace. “Don’t apologize for anything that happened. None of that was your fault.”

“I know, Q. It just feels like…” Violet shut her eyes and buried her face in her husband’s chest. “It feels like he’s always there. It’s like he’s watching me, like he’s just waiting for us to…”

“He’s not. He’s gone. He will never ever hurt you again, Violet,” Quigley reassured.

“I mean, I want a baby with you, Q. I just don’t see how that can happen if I get freaked out whenever we start to have sex,” Violet lamented.

“You—" Quigley looked down at Violet. She picked up her head at his movement. “You want to have a baby?”

Violet nodded and dabbed the corner of her eye with her sleeve. “Of course, Quigley, more than anything, but I can’t do that until I get over this fear of mine.”

“Hey, we’ll take it slow, all right? One step at a time. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.” Quigley kissed Violet on the tip of her nose. “I love you, Vi. I married you for you and your life. If you’re never ready, that’s fine. I’ll still love you.” Quigley laughed. “I’m here to stay, Vi.”

Violet smiled as tears began to freely fall. “I love you, too, Q. Thank you.”

The muffled sound of a door closing and a faint, “Mom?” sounded from the foyer.

“Bea’s home,” Violet said to Quigley. “Coming, Bea!” Violet called out. She started to head out of the room. “We’ll talk about all this later, all right?” Quigley smiled and nodded as he followed Violet down to greet Bea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The property and characters belong solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment down below please!! And let me know if I need to tag something!


	3. Beetle

Count Olaf sat at his regular table at the edge of the restaurant’s outside perimeter. He had a perfect view of the sidewalk around the side of his newspaper. He never read the newspaper, though. It was full of big words and convoluted opinions. No, it was easier to keep his eyes trained just to the left of the paper, where he could see her coming.

After he had escaped the fire with the woman with hair but no beard, they went on the lam. They were forced to lay low at Caligari Carnival, where disguises were a dime a dozen. The carnival had been a V.F.D. operation at one time, but the performers, who were not volunteers, decided to take up the reins and make it just a regular carnival.

The woman with hair but no beard proved rather unuseful, as she was ordering Count Olaf around. She forbade him from searching for his daughter, but shortly after died under mysterious circumstances after she slipped and fell several times into the knife-throwing paraphernalia.

Overall, it was not impossible to find the Baudelaires. Of course, the remaining VFD members had left a false paper trail as to the exact location of the four children. However, it was not long before the eldest surviving Baudelaire had made a name for herself. At only 21, she became the city’s top inventor while her younger brother had been the youngest doctoral candidate at the local university. Of course, the third Baudelaire child showed a promising career as an amateur chef (proved by her multiple wins in different food contests that happened during special citywide events).

Olaf returned to his and the Baudelaire’s old stomping grounds, yet laid low as he formulated his plan and even his motives. It was by pure coincidence that one day, while out in a disguise, Count Olaf spotted the Baudelaire woman with a small child. The young woman’s long, brown hair was tied back with a ribbon, and her eclectic wardrobe was immaculate. Her bright blue eyes hid sadness when she looked down at her daughter. The little girl was beautiful and nearly a spitting image for her mother, except for one feature: while not unseemly, the girl’s eyebrows were thick and full.

As Olaf now sat at the cafe, not reading his newspaper, he recalled the memory of finding this girl and smiled at his newfound purpose. If he got to the girl, he could get to her mother. And he knew exactly how he was going to do it. His thoughts, however, were interrupted when the child, now a few years older, came wandering down the sidewalk, unaware of a man turning to leave before tripping and falling to the ground.

  
Klaus stood from his place at the table and tapped the glass. The six other seated people turned their heads to the young man. He gave a lopsided smile. “I would like to say a few words. I know I said plenty at the wedding—“

“Yeah, you wouldn’t shut up,” Sunny joked. Bea laughed with her aunt, and the rest of the table chuckled.

“Thank you, Sunny,” Klaus rolled his eyes. “But I wanted to address everyone right here, right now, as the first real meal that we are all sharing as a family. Duncan, Isadora, I’m so glad you were able to make it.” Klaus raised his glass at Quigley’s siblings.

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, and if I did, my toes would have most definitely curled,” Isadora laughed.

“Here we go with the couplets,” Quigley groaned.

“Oh, stop, I think they’re nice!” Violet said to her husband.

“You didn’t have to live with them for your entire life,” Duncan chimed in.

“In any case,” Klaus interrupted. He then looked at his sister. “Violet, Quigley, you deserve all the happiness this world has to offer.” Violet and Quigley smiled at the young man. “Now, Quigley, I believe you have something to say?” Klaus sat and adjusted his glasses.

“Yes, I do. Bea?” he called. Bea looked up from her plate of puttanesca. “I’m so very glad that you were all right with me marrying your mother.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re like my dad!” Bea said happily.

Quigley smiled. “Well, it’s funny you say that.” Quigley took Violet’s hand, and she gave him a comforting nod. “I actually wanted to ask you tonight how you would like it if legally adopted you?”

Bea froze, her brows pitching upwards. “Really? For real?”

Quigley nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, for real!”

Bea looked around the table at all of the faces gazing at her. Sunny nudged her with her elbow.

“You’d be my dad?” Bea asked quietly.

“He would. He wouldn’t just be your step-father,” Violet replied.

Bea swallowed thickly. “What about my real dad?”

The air changed immediately as Sunny and Klaus glanced over to Violet, whose happy demeanor cracked slightly.

“Quigley would be your real dad,” she said.

“No, I mean my biological dad. What about him?” Bea asked.

“Beatrice,” Sunny hissed through her teeth.

“You don’t need to worry about him, OK? Quigley would be the only father—“ Violet started.

“I know what Quigley would be, but what if I met my biological father one day? What would he say then when I told him that he wasn’t my dad anymore?”

“Beatrice, _stop_,” Sunny hissed again.

“That won’t happen. Don’t worry about him. We’ll talk later about it. Just tell Quigley what you think,” Violet said calmly.

Bea huffed. “You always say that. You always say that we’ll talk later about my dad, but we never do. You just tell me not to ask about him and then forbid me from doing certain things that apparently remind you of him! Is he the reason why you won’t let me write plays or do theatre?”

“Who told you that?” Violet snapped, her eyes wide.

“Violet, let’s do this later—“ Klaus tried to interrupt.

“Sunny told me today,” Bea explained.

Sunny glared at Bea and then turned to face Violet. “It was an accident. I didn’t say anything, she just kind of guessed it—“

Violet shut her eyes and spread her hands. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Just drop it, Bea,” she punctuated.

“See? You never want to talk about him! You all act like he’ll appear if you even talk about him. I don’t even know his name! Why can’t you just talk about him?”

Violet stood suddenly. “Because I can’t!” she yelled. The dining room was deathly quiet and no one moved. Bea blinked at her mother’s rage. “I can’t do it, Bea,” she calmed herself down.

“Mom—“

“Go to your room, please,” Violet asked quietly.

Bea looked at Klaus and Sunny, who nodded in the direction of her room. Bea sighed and stood silently, leaving her napkin on her chair. She stepped away and quietly made her way to her room, closing the door behind her.

Bea curled up on her bed and stared at the wall. Why wouldn’t they just talk about this mysterious man? All she knew is that she had a biological father and that he was no longer in their lives. She did not know if he was alive or dead, where he was, what he did, or even if he knew about her.

It felt like hours that Bea stayed in that position until she heard a soft series of knocks on the door. She recognized that the knocker was tapping out in Morse code the letters K, L, A, U, and S. She sighed.

“Come in,” she called behind her. She heard the door open slightly.

“Hey, beetle,” Klaus’ nickname for her earned an unseen eye-roll from Bea. He came over and sat on the edge of her bed.

“I’m in a lot of trouble, aren’t I?” Bea asked monotonously.

Klaus sighed. “That’s up to Vi.”

Bea sat up. “Then if you’re not here to relay my punishment, then why are you here?”

Klaus folded his arms. “I’m not going to beat about the bush: your mom is upset with what happened at the table. She didn’t think it was fair for you to bring all of that up like you did.”

“Well, if she had ever talked to me about my dad, then I wouldn’t have said anything,” Bea replied.

Klaus nodded. “I see your point, Bea. I know how frustrating it is to not really know who a parent is beyond someone who made you.” He looked at his niece. “I know your mom wants to tell you in a way you’ll understand, but you’re just not ready for that.”

“I’m thirteen. I can handle it.” Bea looked up at her uncle hopefully.

Klaus sighed and placed a hand over Beatrice’s. “There were a lot of things I learned at thirteen that I wasn’t ready for. Don’t wish your childhood away just to know how the world works.”

“Uncle Klaus,” Bea said softly. “Tell me _something_ about my dad. Please.”

Klaus swallowed. What could he tell her that she was ready to hear? “What I will say is that your mom has her reasons for not talking about him.”

Bea rolled her eyes. “You’re the second person today to tell me that.”

“Well, it’s true. Your…father was not a very nice man. He did some not very nice things, and so that’s why your mom doesn’t like to talk about him. It brings back bad memories of our childhood,” Klaus explained.

“What did he do?” Bea asked.

“I probably shouldn’t have even told you that much.” Klaus stood. “Your mom will talk to you about this. When you’re ready.” He started towards the door.

“Uncle Klaus?” Bea called. He turned to look at her. “Can you tell mom and Quigley that I want Quigley to be my dad?”

Klaus smiled. “I’ll let you tell them yourself.”

Bea nodded. “And, Uncle Klaus?”

“Yes, beetle?”

She sighed. “I’m sorry for what I did at the table. I didn’t mean to hurt Mom.”

Klaus nodded and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know. Your mother knows too.” He opened the door. “You can go say your goodnights when you’re ready. You know where she is.”

Klaus let himself out. Bea sighed and let her head fall back against the wall. This mysterious man did bad things. He was not nice, as Klaus had said. Bea chewed on her lip as she thought about this person whose shadow apparently loomed over her mother and uncle and aunt’s childhood.

Did she look like him? If she did, did her mother cringe every time she looked at her? What if she ended up not being a nice person like him?

Bea felt the tears fall from her eyes before she knew she was crying. She had hurt her own feelings in contemplating her father. She wiped her face and stood to go to her mother’s invention room.

Whenever an argument occurred between Violet and anyone in the house, she would always retreat to her invention room, which was a beautiful atrium that had been transformed into a tinkerer’s dream. Violet could usually be found either hunched over her design area where she drew up blueprints for inventions or around the dozens of found objects she used to craft her inventions. Her hair was always tied up with a ribbon that matched her outfit of the day, but she favored a ribbon whose color matched her namesake.

Bea padded down the now darkened hallways and quietly opened the door to the atrium. The only light was a yellow lamp in the corner where Violet was hunched in the corner and sitting on the floor with a toolbox next to her. She was muttering to herself, but Bea could not make out what she was saying.

As Bea slowly and silently approached her mother, she carefully thought about what she was going to say. Would she just say sorry and leave? Or would she dare ask about her father?

Bea stopped behind her mother, who was evidently so consumed with her current invention that she had not heard her daughter’s entry.

“Mom?” Bea said in the smallest voice possible.

Violet gasped and jumped, but sighing in relief when she saw who it was. “Oh, Bea. You scared me.” She turned around and placed her tools back into the toolbox. Violet stood and smoothed out her pajamas. “What’s wrong?” she asked plainly.

Bea looked up at her mother, but then down to the floor. “I just wanted to say I was sorry for what I said at the dinner table. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Or Quigley’s. And I would like for him to be my dad,” Bea blurted. She had not meant for it to all come out at once, but it did. “And I promise that I’ll never bring up my biological father again. I won’t ever ask about him or mention him.”

There was a bit of silence between Bea and Violet. If Bea had not seen her mother’s legs in front of her, she would have thought that Violet had left.

A sudden warmth wrapped around Bea and the smile of violets overwhelmed her senses. A soft kiss was placed in her hair, and tears suddenly began prickling at the back of Bea’s eyes.

“I know you have questions, Bea. There’s so much that you don’t know that I can’t tell you. Not yet,” Violet said softly.

“Klaus said he was a terrible person,” Bea said as she stepped away. She looked up at her mother. “Am I… like him?” Bea asked, her voice cracking.

Violet’s eyes widened as her brows furrowed. She got down on her knees to face her daughter. “No! No, you are nothing like him!” Violet stated. She placed her hands on her daughter’s cheeks. “You are smart and kind, and beautiful. You could _never_ be like him. The simple fact that you came to apologize means you have nothing in common with him.”

Tears began to fall freely down Bea’s face. “When you look at me, do you see him?”

Violet brought Bea into a tight embrace, and Bea fell into her mother’s arm. “Oh, my little Bea, when I look at you, I see my world. You are my reason for living. I see my little girl who creates worlds and characters and writes beautiful fiction. I see everything good in the world.”

Bea sobbed harder at her mother’s words as Violet smoothed her hands down Bea’s hair.

“Why would you ever think about such things?” Violet finally asked as she pulled away from Bea, whose eyes and nose were red from crying.

“You always grimace when I bring him up and you always change the subject and Klaus said it was because he reminded you of bad things that happened,” Bea rambled.

Violet sighed and shut her eyes. “Klaus,” she whispered chastising. She looked back up at Bea. “Listen to me. Klaus is right: your biological father was a wicked man. I would not hesitate to even say he was villainous. But, there are things about him that Klaus doesn’t even know. All right?”

Violet used her thumb to wipe away some of Bea’s tears. “I promise, Bea: I will tell you everything when you’re old enough to understand. When you’re…” Violet paused to think. “Eighteen. How about that? Is that a deal?”

Bea sniffed and nodded. “Mom…”

Violet tilted her head.

“Can you tell me just one thing? Anything about him. Just something that I can hear from you,” Bea requested.

Violet sighed and lowered her head. “Your father…” Violet faltered at the words. “He…. The night you were born, there was a fire. You, me, Klaus, and Sunny got out, but he was trapped in the house.”

As Violet paused for Bea to understand the implications of her words, she examined her daughter’s face. How was she going to take it?

“So…” Bea started. Her face softened as she looked back up at Violet. “He’s…gone?”

Violet nodded. “And our lives are much better for it. Do you trust me?”

Bea sniffed as she wiped the drying remnants of her last tears from her cheeks. “I trust you.”

“Then that will have to do for five years,” Violet said. “You will never have to meet that villainous man.”

  
The dark streets were illuminated with an eerie glow the further Count Olaf journeyed through the city. He quickened his pace, his new plan ruminating in his mind. After interacting with Beatrice for the first time today, his plot became clear. However, he needed an accomplice to pull it off.

For thirteen years, Olaf had not contacted any members of his former troupe. He reasoned that the V.F.D. would keep their eye on his associates and would monitor any strange communication. He was supposed to be dead to the Volunteers, after all.

Olaf rounded a corner and the bright lights of the theatre marquee caused him to squint. This was one of the older theatres in the city and one of the ones he had not burned down.

The alley next to the theatre was completely dark save for a single solitary lightbulb above the backstage door. A tall, bald man was leaned up against the side of the building, facing away from Olaf. He was clearly smoking, as the smoke had billowed up around the lightbulb, giving off a hazy glow.

Olaf smiled and began to walk down the alley.

The bald man tilted his head having heard Olaf’s footfall. “The actors ain’t coming out this way,” the bald man shouted, obviously having directed many fans away from this spot before.

“Oh, I’m not here for an autograph,” Olaf replied.

At the sound of Olaf’s voice, the bald man whirled around in shock, his face drained of all color. “Boss—“ he stuttered.

Olaf chuckled. “Why you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he jested.

The bald man’s mouth opened and closed several times before he could say anything else. “How?” he finally asked.

“Oh, an impresario never reveals his secrets.” Olaf wiggled his singular eyebrow.

The bald man dropped his cigarette and stepped on it. “I guess you’re here to head up the troupe again,” he said.

Olaf smirked. “Eventually. But not tonight. I need an accomplice,” he said.

“Then shouldn’t you be looking for Fernald?”

Olaf rolled his eyes. “I did.” He huffed. “He’s gone on some ‘exposition’ with his stupid sister. Besides, I only need one person. And I can pay you handsomely,” Olaf explained.

The bald man crossed his arms. “With what? The Baudelaire fortune isn’t yours anymore.”

Olaf sneered before he got closer to the bald man and said, “Getting back their fortune is part of the plan. However, to do that, I need Violet.” At the girl’s name, the bald man’s ears seemed to perk up. Olaf continued, “To get close to Violet, I need to get to her daughter. And I need an extra set of hands.”

The bald man raised his eyebrows, still unsure. Olaf leaned closer and added, “As long as I am alive, she is still my wife. This time, I might be willing to share her.”

The bald man’s eyes widened and he smiled nastily while chuckling. “What do you need, boss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events" or any of the characters therein. All rights belong solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Guess who's back??? Ah, it feels so good!! This year has been a DOOZY. I've had a busy schedule with my school work ALL YEAR, I had my very own Covid diagnosis, and I had some personal tragedies in the past week. Anyway, you guys don't want to hear about me... you want more ASOUE misery, and I am all too happy to be back. Sorry for a shorter chapter, but I'm trying to get back in the groove again.
> 
> As always, leave a kudos and/or a comment, because I love that shit.

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own "A Series of Unfortunate Events." The property and characters belong solely to Daniel Handler under the Lemony Snicket pseudonym.
> 
> Leave a kudos or a comment down below please!! And let me know if I need to tag something!


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